Читать книгу Alaska, the Great Country - Ella Higginson - Страница 16

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Indian basketry is poetry, music, art, and life itself woven exquisitely together out of dreams, and sent out into a thoughtless world in appealing messages which will one day be farewells, when the poor lonely dark women who wove them are no more.

At its best, the basketry of the islands of Atka and Attu in the Aleutian chain is the most beautiful in the world. Most of the basketry now sold as Attu is woven by the women of Atka, we were told at Unalaska, which is the nearest market for these baskets. Only one old woman remains on Attu who understands this delicate and priceless work; and she is so poorly paid that she was recently reported to be in a starving condition, although the velvety creations of her old hands and brain bring fabulous prices to some one. The saying that an Attu basket increases a dollar for every mile as it travels toward civilization, is not such an exaggeration as it seems. I saw a trader from the little steamer Dora—the only one regularly plying those far waters—buy a small basket, no larger than a pint bowl, for five dollars in Unalaska; and a month later, on another steamer, between Valdez and Seattle, an enthusiastic young man from New York brought the same basket out of his stateroom and proudly displayed it.

"I got this one at a great bargain," he bragged, with shining eyes. "I bought it in Valdez for twenty-five dollars, just what it cost at Unalaska. The man needed the money worse than the basket. I don't know how it is, but I'm always stumbling on bargains like that!" he concluded, beginning to strut.

Then I was heartless enough to laugh, and to keep on laughing. I had greatly desired that basket myself!

He had the satisfaction of knowing, however, that his little twined bowl, with the coloring of a Behring Sea sunset woven into it, would be worth fifty dollars by the time he reached Seattle, and at least a hundred in New York; and it was so soft and flexible that he could fold it up meantime and carry it in his pocket, if he chose—to say nothing of the fact that Elizabeth Propokoffono, the young and famed dark-eyed weaver of Atka, may have woven it herself. Like the renowned "Sally-bags," made by Sally, a Wasco squaw, the baskets woven by Elizabeth have a special and sentimental value. If she would weave her initials into them, she might ask, and receive, any price she fancied. Sally, of the Wascos, on the other hand, is very old; no one weaves her special bag, and they are becoming rare and valuable. They are of plain, twined weaving, and are very coarse. A small one in the writer's possession is adorned with twelve fishes, six eagles, three dogs, and two and a half men. Sally is apparently a woman-suffragist of the old school, and did not consider that men counted for much in the scheme of Indian baskets; yet, being a philosopher, as well as a suffragist, concluded that half a man was better than none at all.

At Yakutat "Mrs. Pete" is the best-known basket weaver. Young, handsome, dark-eyed, and clean, with a chubby baby in her arms, she willingly, and with great gravity, posed against the pilot-house of the old Santa Ana for her picture. Asked for an address to which I might send one of the pictures, she proudly replied, "Just Mrs. Pete, Yakutat." Her courtesy was in marked contrast to the exceeding rudeness with which the Sitkan women treat even the most considerate and deferential photographers; glaring at them, turning their backs, covering their heads, hissing, and even spitting at them.

However, the Yakutats do not often see tourists, who, heaven knows, are not one of the novelties of the Sitkans' lives.

According to Lieutenant G. T. Emmons, who is the highest authority on Thlinkit Indians, not only so far as their basketry is concerned, but their history, habits, and customs, as well, nine-tenths of all their basketwork is of the open, cylindrical type which throws the chief wear and strain upon the borders. These are, therefore, of greater variety than those of any other Indians, except possibly the Haidahs.

As I have elsewhere stated, nearly all Thlinkit baskets are of the twined weave, which is clearly described by Otis Tufton Mason in his precious and exquisite work, "Aboriginal American Basketry"; a work which every student of basketry should own. If anything could be as fascinating as the basketry itself, it would be this charmingly written and charmingly illustrated book.

Basketry is either hand-woven or sewed. Hand-woven work is divided into checker work, twilled work, wicker work, wrapped work, and twined work. Sewed work is called coiled basketry.

Twined work is found on the Pacific Coast from Attu to Chile, and is the most delicate and difficult of all woven work. It has a set of warp rods, and the weft elements are worked in by two-strand or three-strand methods. Passing from warp to warp, these weft elements are twisted in half-turns on each other, so as to form a two-strand or three-strand twine or braid, and usually with a deftness that keeps the glossy side of the weft outward.

"The Thlinkit, weaving," says Lieutenant Emmons, "sits with knees updrawn to the chin, feet close to the body, bent-shouldered, with the arms around the knees, the work held in front. Sometimes the knees fall slightly apart, the work held between them, the weft frequently held in the mouth, the feet easily crossed. The basket is held bottom down. In all kinds of weave, the strands are constantly dampened by dipping the fingers in water." The finest work of Attu and Atka is woven entirely under water. A rude awl, a bear's claw or tooth, are the only implements used. The Attu weaver has her basket inverted and suspended by a string, working from the bottom down toward the top.

Almost every part of plants is used—roots, stems, bark, leaves, fruit, and seeds. The following are the plants chiefly used by the Thlinkits: The black shining stems of the maidenhair fern, which are easily distinguished and which add a rich touch; the split stems of the brome-grass as an overlaying material for the white patterns of spruce-root baskets; for the same purpose, the split stem of bluejoint; the stem of wood reed-grass; the stem of tufted hair-grass; the stem of beech-rye; the root of horsetail, which works in a rich purple; wolf moss, boiled for canary-yellow dye; manna-grass; root of the Sitka spruce tree; juice of the blueberry for a purple dye.

The Attu weaver uses the stems and leaves of grass, having no trees and few plants. When she wants the grass white, it is cut in November and hung, points down, out-doors to dry; if yellow be desired, as it usually is, it is cut in July and the two youngest full-grown blades are cut out and split into three pieces, the middle one being rejected and the others hung up to dry out-doors; if green is wanted, the grass is prepared as for yellow, except that the first two weeks of curing is carried on in the heavy shade of thick grasses, then it is taken into the house and dried. Curing requires about a month, during which time the sun is never permitted to touch the grass.

Ornamentation by means of color is wrought by the use of materials which are naturally of a different color; by the use of dyed materials; by overlaying the weft and warp with strips of attractive material before weaving; by embroidering on the texture during the process of manufacture, this being termed "false" embroidery; by covering the texture with plaiting, called imbrication; by the addition of feathers, beads, shells, and objects of like nature.

Some otherwise fine specimens of Atkan basketry are rendered valueless, in my judgment, by the present custom of introducing flecks of gaily dyed wool, the matchless beauty of these baskets lying in their delicate, even weaving, and in their exquisite natural coloring—the faintest old rose, lavender, green, yellow and purple being woven together in one ravishing mist of elusive splendor. So enchanting to the real lover of basketry are the creations of those far lonely women's hands and brains, that they seem fairly to breathe out their loveliness upon the air, as a rose.

This basketry was first introduced to the world in 1874, by William H. Dall, to whom Alaska and those who love Alaska owe so much. Warp and weft are both of beach grass or wild rye. One who has never seen a fine specimen of these baskets has missed one of the joys of this world.

The Aleuts perpetuate no story or myth in their ornamentation. With them it is art for art's sake; and this is, doubtless, one reason why their work draws the beholder spellbound.

The symbolism of the Thlinkit is charming. It is found not alone in their basketry, but in their carvings in stone, horn, and wood, and in Chilkaht blankets. The favorite designs are: shadow of a tree, water drops, salmon berry cut in half, the Arctic tern's tail, flaking of the flesh of a fish, shark's tooth, leaves of the fireweed, an eye, raven's tail, and the crossing. It must be confessed that only a wild imagination could find the faintest resemblance of the symbols woven into the baskets to the objects they represent. The symbol called "shadow of a tree" really resembles sunlight in moving water.

With the Haidah hats and Chilkaht blankets, it is very different. The head, feet, wings, and tail of the raven, for instance, are easily traced. In more recent basketry the swastika is a familiar design. Many Thlinkit baskets have "rattly" covers. Seeds found in the crops of quail are woven into these covers. They are "good spirits" which can never escape; and will insure good fortune to the owner. Woe be to him, however, should he permit his curiosity to tempt him to investigate; they will then escape and work him evil instead of good, all the days of his life.

In Central Alaska, the basketry is usually of the coiled variety, coarsely and very indifferently executed. Both spruce and willow are used. From Dawson to St. Michael, in the summer of 1907, stopping at every trading post and Indian village, I did not see a single piece of basketry that I would carry home. Coarse, unclean, and of slovenly workmanship, one could but turn away in pity and disgust for the wasted effort.

The Innuit in the Behring Sea vicinity make both coiled and twined basketry from dried grasses; but it is even worse than the Yukon basketry, being carelessly done—the Innuit infinitely preferring the carving and decorating of walrus ivory to basket weaving. It is delicious to find an Innuit who never saw a glacier decorating a paper-knife with something that looks like a pond lily, and labelling it Taku Glacier, which is three thousand miles to the southeastward. I saw no attempt on the Yukon, nor on Behring Sea, at what Mr. Mason calls imbrication—the beautiful ornamentation which the Indians of Columbia, Frazer, and Thompson rivers and of many Salish tribes of Northwestern Washington use to distinguish their coiled work. It resembles knife-plaiting before it is pressed flat. This imbrication is frequently of an exquisite, dull, reddish brown over an old soft yellow. Baskets adorned with it often have handles and flat covers; but papoose baskets and covered long baskets, almost as large as trunks, are common.

There was once a tide in my affairs which, not being taken at the flood, led on to everlasting regret.

One August evening several years ago I landed on an island in Puget Sound where some Indians were camped for the fishing season. It was Sunday; the men were playing the fascinating gambling game of slahal, the children were shouting at play, the women were gathered in front of their tents, gossiping.

In one of the tents I found a coiled, imbricated Thompson River basket in old red-browns and yellows. It was three and a half feet long, two and a half feet high, and two and a half wide, with a thick, close-fitting cover. It was offered to me for ten dollars, and—that I should live to chronicle it!—not knowing the worth of such a basket, I closed my eyes to its appealing and unforgettable beauty, and passed it by.

But it had, it has, and it always will have its silent revenge. It is as bright in my memory to-day as it was in my vision that August Sunday ten years ago, and more enchanting. My longing to see it again, to possess it, increases as the years go by. Never have I seen its equal, never shall I. Yet am I ever looking for that basket, in every Indian tent or hovel I may stumble upon—in villages, in camps, in out-of-the-way places. Sure am I that I should know it from all other baskets, at but a glance.

I knew nothing of the value of baskets, and I fancied the woman was taking advantage of my ignorance. While I hesitated, the steamer whistled. It was all over in a moment; my chance was gone. I did not even dream how greatly I desired that basket until I stood in the bow of the steamer and saw the little white camp fade from view across the sunset sea.

The original chaste designs and symbols of Thlinkit, Haidah, and Aleutian basketry are gradually yielding, before the coarse taste of traders and tourists, to the more modern and conventional designs. I have lived to see a cannery etched upon an exquisitely carved paper-knife; while the things produced at infinite labor and care and called cribbage-boards are in such bad taste that tourists buying them become curios themselves.

The serpent has no place in Alaskan basketry for the very good reason that there is not a snake in all Alaska, and the Indians and Innuit probably never saw one. A woman may wade through the swampiest place or the tallest grass without one shivery glance at her pathway for that little sinuous ripple which sends terror to most women's hearts in warmer climes. Indeed, it is claimed that no poisonous thing exists in Alaska.

The tourist must not expect to buy baskets farther north than Skaguay, where fine ones may be obtained at very reasonable prices. Having visited several times every place where basketry is sold, I would name first Dundas, then Yakutat, and then Sitka as the most desirable places for "shopping," so far as southeastern Alaska is concerned; out "to Westward," first Unalaska and Dutch Harbor, then Kodiak and Seldovia.